Relatively Normal
by gabthebomb
Summary: Technically a sequel to 'Let Down Your Hair'. Without her crown, the world is her oyster. Elinor-centric.


About a week after the Bear Incident, servants bustle around Castle DunBroch, cleaning up after the clans' departure. Upside-down chairs are righted. Animal trophies are returned to their original spots. Maudie finds many a party favor strewn about, including goblets, bits of spears and even a pair of skivvies.

On this blustery day, Queen Elinor and Princess Merida return from their now-routine morning ride. Having secured their horses in the stables, the mother and daughter proceed to the hall for a light midday meal. They chat amicably, helping themselves to pickled herring and potatoes. When they have finished with their food, Merida immediately runs off, though not before granting her mother a peck on the cheek.

Though she is probably going to roughhouse with the triplets, Elinor doesn't issue the usual warning. She's having such a lovely day off, with no desire to ruin the mood. It is the Queen's last before returning to her duties, when she will once more be required to deal with letters and lords and various other headaches. Fortunately, this morning has been well-spent, and the expanse of the afternoon offers a whole new chapter.

Elinor heads back to her room to freshen up. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and nearly laughs out loud at the state of her appearance. Her hair is horrendously tangled from the ride; her skirts are beyond wrinkled. For a moment, she entertains the idea of carrying on her disheveled appearance for the time being. If only her mother were to see her now! She'd knock the crown right from Elinor's head, not that the Queen is wearing it at the moment. (She really must remember to send someone out to the woods to find it.)

Elinor sighs at herself. She knows that the only real voice in her head is her own, and the perfectionist in her demands that every knot be undone and each crinkle ironed. Resigned to her task, she picks up her double-sided comb and sits at the edge of the bed to begin. It takes a good fifteen minutes to unsnarl her hair, with her wincing all the while. With that finished, she decides to change out of her riding slippers, but when she reaches down to unlace them, a thought occurs to her.

What if she were to shed her title—_really _stop being the Queen—if only for a few hours?

Is it even possible?

She pauses, considering. Her family, bless them, are otherwise occupied to the best of her knowledge. It would be easy enough to slip out undetected and roam about the village. If she disguised herself well, she could be someone else for a little while. Not Her Highness, not Her Majesty, not Queen Elinor—just Elinor.

The idea is too tempting to ignore.

Having made her decision, Elinor nearly leaps from her seat, tearing open the doors to her bureau. She skims the array of dresses hanging there, but quickly rejects every garment. Each one is too fancy, too long, or inappropriate for the weather. She considers borrowing a frock from one of the servants, but that would mean confronting them, which would lead to raised eyebrows and questions, which would more or less ruin her plans.

Finally, she comes across a plain russet gown tucked all the way to one side. The dress is obviously well-made and finely embroidered, but it is the simplest option nonetheless and will have to do. It has been years since she last wore it, not since the triplets were toddlers. She had needed something that could get dirty, back in the days when she used to think—foolishly—that chasing the boys around could ever be worthwhile.

Tittering at the memory, she frees the dress from its hanger. Fortunately, the thing still fits. Now for a cloak to serve both as further concealment and warmth, as the afternoon is sure to grow chilly. She selects one of her darker ones, and throws it on over the gown before facing the mirror.

Elinor's reflection shows her more or less what she'd expected: a woman in an unassuming dress and cloak, eyes bright from the thought of her venture. Then she frowns upon seeing her hair, long as it is, fanning over her shoulders. After a little effort, she twists it into a rope and tucks it underneath the hood. With her hair concealed and the hood casting a shadow over her face, she figures it would take a member of her family or closest staff to recognize her.

She scans her appearance once more, gaze traveling to her hands. Carefully, she removes the jade ring from her right hand and places it atop the vanity. From her left she takes the gold ring from her index finger but leaves her wedding band. While her other jewelry proves her royal status, this ring denotes her other half—the love of her life—and she sees no harm in leaving it on. Finally, she fastens a leather drawstring purse to her waistband inside the cloak.

With a satisfied smirk, the Queen sneaks out the back way through the kitchens and down the path to the village, a small thrill running through her being.

* * *

"Hot bannocks, baked not a moment ago!"

"Flower pots! Crockery! Bowls! The finest pottery in DunBroch!"

"Herbs to revitalize your energy!"

The merchants shout unrelentingly as Elinor passes through the market, and it takes her a minute to absorb the pure ruckus of it all. She is familiar with crowds, of course, but rarely does she find herself pushing through them, people pressed up against her on all sides. It is more than a little overwhelming.

At the same time, she feels a swell of pride for her people and their obvious vibrancy. The market is an explosion of every color, smell and sound. Elinor knows, of course, that the kingdom economy is doing well, but it is nice to see the proof in the abundance of wares and shoppers. The townspeople laugh and chatter as they barter, a true community.

She pauses at a random stand to decide her next course of action.

"How about some salmon, ma'am? Freshly caught today!" says the boisterous merchant, thrusting a fish into Elinor's face. She favors fish as much as the next person—more so after recent events—but she almost recoils from the sudden encounter.

"Thank ye, sir, but I'm perfectly fine," Elinor says to the fishmonger, smiling tightly. As a man jostles her by accident, she suddenly realizes just how out of her comfort zone she is. Away from her usual surroundings, attire and the accompanying power, she must keep her wits about her. As Queen, there is usually a guard or her husband by her side, but here, she is unsafe from any confrontation, attitude or bawdiness that could come her way. She will have to be careful.

The Queen tugs her cloak closer and backs out of the fish merchant's area, once more weaving through the openings in the horde. Though she has only recently eaten, today she can stuff her gob however much she likes and so she stops to buy some fresh fruit from a cheerful woman.

Having secured her purchase, Elinor strides lazily among the stalls, savoring her crisp apple and the sensation of cobblestones beneath her feet. Before long, she notices a small boy off to the side wearing scraggly and faded clothing. He can't be more than five or six, not much older than her sons, and yet he is on the street, pale hands outstretched towards passerby for a contribution.

As she nears him, Elinor lowers her hand from her mouth, apple forgotten. The little boy grins pleadingly when he sees her, and the Queen wishes she could give him some clothing and a warm bed beside. She immediately vows to increase the flow of funds and attendants to the village orphanage and poorhouse, but that will have to be done later. For now, she settles for grasping beneath her clothing for her purse.

As she does so, the boy takes in her thick cloak, which is short enough to expose a hint of her gown's hem. His eyes widen upon catching a glimpse of the rich embroidered fabric, and Elinor realizes that despite her disguise, she appears to him as a noblewoman at the very least. She cannot help but feel responsible for the contrast between them.

Knowing she is otherwise helpless at the moment, the Queen asks the child if she can buy him something to eat. His answer of acceptance is no less than what she'd expected and it causes Elinor's chest to contort further.

As he eyes the half-eaten fruit in her motionless hand, she smiles warmly.

"Lead me to any stand ye like, lad."

Without another word, the boy pulls her to a stall filled with the intoxicating aroma of smoked meat, pausing his with mouth wide open.

"Oh, I believe ye've picked a good one! What do ye desire?" Elinor asks, her smile friendly. She makes eye contact with the butcher and pulls out a few coins.

The poor boy looks up at her through his lashes, suddenly shy. "I don't know," he whispers.

"That's quite all right, sweetheart. Here, why don't I surprise ye, and if ye don't like it, no harm done!" Elinor suggests with a wink, despite the wrenching of her heart. She makes her exchange with the vendor, and the boy wordlessly accepts her offering, eyes hungrily raking over the food.

"T-thank ye," he mumbles, and the Queen nods sympathetically.

"Oi, don't ye want yer change, lady?" the butcher is saying, and Elinor turns to him.

"Ah, that's alright, thank ye," she declines, and the man looks at her as if she is mad, but she shakes her head.

When Elinor looks down to ask after his parents, the boy has vanished.

* * *

As the afternoon wears on, Elinor continues to drift aimlessly through the market. At one point, a tress escapes from her hood, and she quickly tucks it away from view, glancing around as she does so. It is apparent, though, that there is no need to worry, since no one is paying attention to her. This conclusion makes her feel a bit unsettled, but she decides to use the anonymity to her advantage. As she passes by chattering citizens, the Queen begins to overhear snippets of conversation.

—Nice day we're having, eh?

—Oh, sure, if ye like fog, that is.

—Our Lady Queen, turned into a bear and back again, d'ye believe it?

—Don't be daft, Thomas, it's all nonsense.

—Nay! The herald would say differently.

—I won't accept less than five.

—It's not worth that, and ye know it, ye ol' numpty!

—Did ye hear about the Games? Most unusual outcome this go around, I heard.

—Aye, the Princess went and split an arrow, she did!

And so on and so forth. Elinor knew people were talking, of course, and rumors are nearly impossible to restrain. However, to hear them discuss the Bear Incident is alarming, as the events are still so fresh to her. A bear and back again, indeed.

When the marketplace begins to close down, Elinor follows the exiting crowd towards the square's limits. Near the gates, a fabric vendor catches her eye, so she stops to inspect the colorful bolts of fabric. She runs her hand over a particularly nice blue silk, considering. Merida is in need of a new formal gown after having torn the old one, though maybe it could be slightly looser this time around. No need to repeat past mistakes, after all.

While she contemplates her choices, she becomes aware of a man complaining loudly several feet away.

"Right shame, it is, that the Princess is allowed to run loose like that. She's a bit too much of a hoyden, if ye ask me."

Elinor's hand stills on the fabric.

"I fancy we're doomed the day she inherits that throne," the cad continues. "Not that the current crowns have it together so much. Whether the recent stories are rubbish or not, I don't care for the lot, ye ken?"

His cohorts laugh rudely. Elinor whirls around, unable to stop herself.

"_Excuse_ you," she cuts in, hands practically fisted at her sides. "Might ye watch yer disparagin' opinion when in the provincial town?"

The stranger gives Elinor a dismissive look.

"Oh, don't be concerned, love. Run along and sew somethin', why don't ye?" he mocks, gesturing at the stall behind her. One of his hangers-on nods in agreement.

Elinor draws a furious breath. "I beg yer pardon?"

At her bitter response, the man looks her up and down.

"Who d'ye think ye are, Queen of the country?" he sneers. If only he knew. "Leave the discussin' to the men, sweetheart. There's a good lass."

Elinor draws herself to her full height. Even without the crown, a true monarch's regal air is not easily hidden, and the group falls silent at the sudden shift in energy.

"You _dare_ condescend—?"

Elinor halts. She isn't the Queen right now and had she finished her original thought, the whole thing would be ruined. However, that doesn't mean she is forced to stand by as a woman, too. Queen or not, she won't tolerate such rudeness in her presence.

"What right have ye to disrespect a lady so?" she amends, glaring. "You should be ashamed of yerself."

Elinor can move mountains with a mere widening of her eyes on a good day. At the steel in her voice, the man takes a step back despite himself.

"Look, lady, I didn't mean—"

"Have ye no mother, wife nor daughters? Surely ye do not mean to disrespect their honor, let alone yer own," Elinor says with a short, humorless laugh. "Ye should be so lucky as to rest your head at night, prancin' around, treatin' women as ye do."

By now, the man is backing away, hands in front of him in surrender. His friends offer no help, either from instinct or fear. Either one is fine with Elinor.

"What do they call ye?" She asks, words dripping with disgust.

"K-Kerr," the man stutters quickly enough that she is sure it is the truth.

Elinor narrows her eyes and assumes her most lethal tone. "Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, _Kerr_. I'm sure Their Majesties will be thrilled to hear of the misogynistic swine pervading their streets, come the next open forum. I do think such a neighborhood plague warrants a little attention, _Kerr_, do ye not?"

She delivers each utterance of his name like the sharpest of arrows, delighting in the look of panic on his face. Normally, she would never stoop to such a level of name-calling, but freedom is on her side today, so to hell with decorum.

"M-ma'am, of course you're right, s-s-sorry!" The creep manages. He then scuttles away, cronies in tow.

Elinor shakes her head. She will definitely be mentioning this to Fergus. Depending on her mood, she will suggest drafting the louse into the legion to be taught a thing or two.

* * *

She returns to the stall she'd been browsing before the nasty little affair and shows the vendor which fabric she wants, along with some pretty thread. As he wraps her purchases, Elinor thinks of what she has witnessed today, feeling as though her eyes have been opened, if only a little. Overall, DunBroch's subjects seem happy and prosperous, with the occasional hiccup, but that's to be expected.

The town seems to be nearly over the turmoil that plagued the kingdom last week. Soon, it would probably be just another legend. She supposes that the fantastical ordeal was contained near enough the castle that a majority of the public is unaffected.

Elinor surmises that it is important to leave the bubble every now and then, if only for a breath of a different air. Here in town, people are concerned with friendship, errands and supper as opposed to battles, magic and bears. Among them, Elinor feels relatively normal. She straightens the sleeves of her cloak, reveling in her secret. It is funny how a few small changes fool others so easily.

Perhaps she will even do it again sometime.


End file.
